Tag: korean movie night

Monday, (which, I suppose, strictly speaking. is today, though it feels more like a continuation of Friday for all I’ve been sleeping), there’s going to be two trips to the Van-International Film Fest.

The King and the Clown marks our last Korean Movie Monday. After this we’ll be picking up with a multi-genre media night at Andrew’s instead, (which I’m far more likely to regularly attend), also every Monday, as far as I know. I’ll pass on the news as I receive it.

Obscene, the number of people who came down tonight to our Korean Movie Night. There was Ray, and Beth, and Christopher, and Erin and Tilly, but then the last two left after I took pictures of someone’s breasts for them. They left us to have the room to ourselves, couches full only with one or two bodies each, and seating for everyone. It was like there was something wrong. (Not the breasts, that sort of request seems normal now). It was more a family gathering than a weekly event of some slightly epic proportion. Comfortable but unexpected. Expecting a battle, there wasn’t even a war.

Sara, Graham, and Nick arrived later, though only Sara got see part of the movie, the bit where father’s just bashed a head in. It was a Korean movie, after all. There had to be some statement of graphic violence that slapped us in our jaded eyes. It’s partially why we keep coming back. The ability to shock is a precious one and something we hold dear. The cinema we find refuses to hold back, details are upfront and basic. Fish-hooks in faces, child autopsies, slaughterhouses based on actual events like soldiers lined up on a particularly militaristic mantelpiece. It’s what we want. Art, truth, and beauty bombs. The shrapnel glitters like blood because it is. Death, there’s a lot of death. We’re learning history and camera angles, cultural references, ambiguities, and the delight that can be found in basic story-telling. We’ve been at this for months now and it’s very rare we watch anything lacking in story. It’s a relief after most modern western films, things like Corpse Bride, which are pretty but meaningless after the nice Hell-is-An-Oingo-Boingo-Jazz-Club bit.

This is where, if I were more awake and aware, I would launch into a miniature tirade essay on the nature of story and how we don’t have enough of it anymore. How our myths have died, eaten mostly by a lack of education and an unwillingness by major studios to believe that an audience does not, in fact, require explosions. I want special effects, I will go find some Peter Greenaway. No one’s made movies like he did. I want explosions, I will make some. In part, that is why I paid for my pyrotech tickets. I want some plot instead. Honest. (In fact, all of you, go see Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. It made me exceedingly glad). However, the time is inching closer to three in the morning, and I am expecting a long day tomorrow. Visits and breakfast and taxidermy rounded off with an evening at the Art Gallery for a political gala. My life sounds better on paper.

suspician (noun): one who plays the oddly insidious music of the paranoiola

After brushing me teeth, I sat on a black couch and cut out stitches with the little scissors which live on my keychain. I think now that I quite badly want a little nurses hat. A nurses hat and white garter belt stockings.

That, however, is an aside.

Last night was Korean Movie Night, and it very insidiously blew me away. I suspect it cashed all of us in, actually. A Tale of Two Sisters is intense. The whole thing is lush, every shot a gift. A movie loosely based on a murder-revenge fairytale, it follows the life of a family in a delightfully morbid house. I don’t think I can explain. It was filmed with incalculable impact, seeming like a nightmare at times, but always progressively more logical in its unbelievable mental twists. Invariably, we found ourselves shouting, “Yes!”, when another piece of the puzzle was revealed. When the credits rolled, we yelled and howled and hugged each other. It was a victory. Just, really, go buy the damned thing.

Welcome! I have been blogging since 2003. It could be argued that I've gotten better at it, but perhaps I just haven't gotten any worse. Expect a mixture of wonder, pointlessness, isolation, and community.